


Changes

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, Do Overs, Eating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hugs, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Nudity, Rain, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Humor, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Swimming, The Retreat, Trust Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future-fic based on "spacetime".  Daisy and Coulson go back to The Retreat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

“You can't go back and change the past.”  
  
“No, but I can want a do-over.”

She clicks her tongue and watches him sort through the pile of files on his desk, like he’s looking for something in particular.

So many new Inhumans.  So much new red tape because of the Registration Act.  
  
“This does _not_ sound scientific at all,” she points out.  
  
“I don't think Fitz would approve,” he concedes, with a shrug, finding the file he was searching for and flipping it open.

Then he pulls at the front drawer of his desk. “I'd probably get another lecture with a diagram,” he mutters, smirking. “So, let’s keep this between us.”

“Is this a fourth-dimensional perspective?” she asks, noting the smile in his eyes.  
  
“What _do_ you think? A few days. While things are still quiet?”  
  
“That's what worries me,” she warns him, with a shake of her head.  
  
“It was just a suggestion.” He stares down at the open drawer like he’s about to shut it. “You can always just say _no_.”  
  
“ _Phil_ -“  
  
“Just say no.  It’s fine.”  And he says it like this should be easy for her and uncomplicated while his hand still hovers near the edge of the drawer.  As if this, and her answer, are somehow connected.  
  
“I don't want to,” she confesses, and then she fidgets, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “I just feel…guilty. There's so much to be done.  I’m responsible for _so much_.”  
  
“I get that,” he nods knowingly. “Believe me.”

It’s easy to, of course, given that him becoming Director wasn’t something he asked for, it was something he was given.  Like a gift.  He’s had to navigate that, too.  
  
“Is this the part where you tell me how alike we are?”

She tries to make it sound light, to buy her some time while she wraps her head around it, thinks it over.  
  
“No.” He frowns, not taking the bait, and instead she hears the rattle from inside the drawer as he pulls his hand out from inside it then shuts it after.

“This is where I tell you…don't be like me.”

He places his hand on the desk, then slides it away. 

The keys to Lola are sitting on the desktop.

 

#

She wipes at the sweat on her forehead by pulling at the top of her tank.  
  
“A very relaxing heatwave we're having.”  She cracks open an eye to glance back at him, fighting against the sting of her sweat in the other.  
  
He gives her a bit of a look, she guesses, since he turns his head towards her.

“It hasn't been a priority,” he answers, like they’re discussing a mission. “No one’s been here in over a year.  No maintenance crew.”  
  
“Which is why the AC had to cut out _right_ when we take the first vacation we've had since I joined SHIELD.”  
  
“Where did you vacation before that?”  
  
It could be because she's uncomfortable, or that _he_ is being sassy.  
  
“I didn't,” she says. Like he doesn’t know.  She stands up from where she was sitting on the porch steps. “That's not my point.”  
  
She stops to look at him through his aviators, sitting in the chair on the porch, and picks up his warm beer bottle when he doesn't reply, making her way back into the cabin.

“You said you wanted someplace warm,” she hears him call after her, following her inside, as she pours the rest of the beer out into the sink and turns on the water.

Wait. “What?” she asks, after splashing her face with it, rubs her hand over the back of her neck.

“You mentioned wanting someplace warm. Like Malibu.”

“Yes,” she says, with a hesitant laugh, remembering, and turns around to look at him. “With an ocean.  And a beach.”

“That’s not exactly secluded.” She watches him tug at the front of his t-shirt, pulling it away from sticking to his body. “This is.”

“This,” she starts in. “Is about something else.”

He keeps silent for a moment, then walks to the fridge, opening the door and closing his eyes with a sigh when the cool air hits him.

“You wanting to know how much things have changed,” she adds.  
  
“And what if I do?” He says, irritation at the edges of it, and reaches down for another beer, popping the top off with his prosthetic.  
  
“Okay,” she concedes, putting her hands behind her on the rim of the sink, leans into it. Not so used to him being this direct.  
  
He stares at her for too long before he takes a gulp of it.  
  
“It's too hot to roast marshmallows,” she offers, watching him drink, his throat moving as he swallows, and flexes her fingers against the cool of the metal sink.  
  
“Agreed,” he replies, licking the beer off of his lips.

She forces her eyes to see out past the window towards the pond in front of the Retreat.

“I think I’ll go for a swim.”

“In that?” he huffs, tilting his head in the direction of the pond outside. “Did you bring a suit?  Or a tetanus shot?”

“No,” she answers, pushing herself off with her hands and walking past him.

“Did you?”

 

#

The water isn't exactly pleasant.   
  
It's smelly, and overgrown with some invasive weeds around the edges. 

But it’s _cool_.  
  
She's trying not to think about her team, about her people. Focus on the moment and not the future looming before them.  
  
It's so hard to separate it, after she saw the future _before_ it happened. Frustrating. And she’s fighting wanting to walk right back into the cabin and call in on the SAT phone to make sure they're okay.  
  
They can handle anything, she knows. Good people doing this for the right reasons, and they have training now.  Experience.

As she looks back towards the cabin, she sees Lola parked out on the front lawn, shining in the sun.  
  
She pushes below the water now that she’s at what she thinks is the deepest part of pond, to see how far down it goes.  
  
It’s not _too_ far, and she holds her breath, closes her eyes, and then....feels around her. Letting it all have access to her, opening herself up to the vibrations _everywhere_.

It startles her when she feels a disruption, not too far off, and she gives a few kicks to get back up towards the waning light above her and takes a slow breath when she breaches the surface.

It’s Phil, coming up for air, too, at the shallow end.  Slicking his hair back against his head, and grimacing at the taste of the water in his mouth.

She bites on her bottom lip when she realizes he hasn’t seen her yet, stilling the movements keeping her afloat to spy on him a bit longer.

He tilts his head back and forth to get the water out of his ears, and then checks his prosthetic, tests it again in the water, flexing his hand.

The scar on his chest draws her eyes immediately, and she shivers.  At a few things.

First, the realization that he intends for her to see it.

Second, because she’s always pushed against the idea of rules, so she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing right now. 

Third. He might be just as naked as she is. Or not.

Fourth. That Phil Coulson is so distantly sexy.  Still.

“Hey,” she calls out, making more noise again, sliding her arms along the top of the water.

When he sees her, he glances around like he’s trying to sort himself out, and looks up at the sky, then dips back into the water, and starts to move towards her.

She waits for him to get closer, and he does, but still keeps some distance.

“Not bad?” she offers.

“I think you had the right idea,” he says apologetically. “About Malibu.”

“I see,” she teases. “You’ve changed your mind-“

She feels the first hard raindrop hit the top of her head, then looks up at the sky, which is getting darker by the moment.

“I guess we’re getting more weather.”  She looks back at him as the cloud above them stops with its tease and begins to drench them.

“Guess so,” he says, over the sound of the downpour.

They hear thunder, and there’s the bright flash of lightning.

“Race you,” she challenges him, and kicks her legs behind her towards the edge of the water.

She turns back long enough to see his eyes widen when the curve of her bottom breaches the top of the water.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

His hand is suddenly on her ankle, tugging her backward, and then he splashes past her.

“Loser makes dinner.”

 

#

They make it into the cabin, dripping wet.

Huddled together, because that’s a lot easier than seeing each other from a distance.

It’s still not comfortable, but the temperature is slowly dropping with the cold front coming in.

“I'm not looking,” he promises, his chin raised, as he shoves the front door closed with his hand.  
  
“You kept your underwear on,” she says, deliberately looking. “I knew it.”  
  
He gives her a shocked expression, and she loves it, laughing at him to see how he reacts, until she’s laughing so hard she has to hug him.  
  
“Well, you didn’t,” he answers in a quiet voice, then chuckling back, wrapping his arms around her. Until they're both finished, still breathing against each other.

“I _have_ changed,” she admits, tucking her head against the hollow of his neck and shoulder.

“Me too.”

His hand slides along her back, still wet from the rain, and she snuggles against him, as his hand freezes in place.

“Oh. Shit,” he says, gritting his teeth. “ _Lola_.”

He lets go of her and heads for the door.  
  
She opens her mouth to say something and then he reaches back and grabs her wrist, tugging her after him.  
  
Laughing again, she lets him pull her outside, as they both find Lola getting drenched, and she sees his shoulders slump.  
  
“Powers?” she asks him with a smile, squinting in the rain.  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
She raises her hands and concentrates, shaping the air above Lola until she’s made an umbrella for her against the downpour.  
  
“Phil,” she says, twisting her neck toward him. He’s frozen in place, watching her in awe.  
  
“Sorry. _Sorry.”_ He gets into motion, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel, and reaching.  
  
“I left the keys inside,” he says, looking up apologetically.  
  
“Hurry?”  
  
“Okay.”

He comes back running and slides into the seat, turns the ignition on, and then drives Lola around the back.

She lets go and when she hears him clanging about, opening the garage, she knows that he’s making dinner.

For sure.

 

#

“Why did you leave her out there in the open?” she asks, digging into the pasta he’s just put in front of her.

“Because I wanted to be able to see her,” he says, taking the pan away from her plate, and putting the rest of it over his at the other end of the table.

“Because I wanted _you_ to be able to see her,” he admits, wiggling his head like he’s making fun of himself, scraping at the little bits left in the pan with the spatula.

“That’s sweet,” she says, with her mouth full.

He gives her a petulant look, because he’s still wearing his underwear and she knows _he knows_ he’s been found out.

The shower was her idea, but, he’s been staring now that she’s swathed in a bathrobe, as she lifts the fork to her mouth.

“Thanks.” He dumps the pan into the sink with a loud clang.

“I mean it.  For wanting me to feel special.  And, like I’m amazing.”

He turns and looks at her like it shouldn’t even have to be said out loud. “You are.”

“It’s nice, Phil,” she tells him, letting her eyes rove over his body, since staring seems to be allowed.  She leans forward on her elbows, knowing that it’s parting the front of the robe. 

So unladylike.

“Tell me more. After dinner.”

Her eyes follow him as he sits down, and starts to eat.

“Do you want to sit closer?”

He looks up at her, watching her pat the spot on the table next to her.

“Yes I want to sit closer.”

He stands and slides the plate along the wooden table until it’s next to hers, then relaxes into the available chair, situating himself again.

“This is… _really_ delicious,” she mentions with a swallow, followed by a sincere nod, twisting her fork into the noodles again.

“I’m glad you like it.”

When she lifts it, he takes her wrist and slips her fork into his mouth.

 

#

“You taste _so good_.”

She arches again, as he licks at his lips, then dives between her legs again, and presses his tongue deeper into her, lifting her off the bed with his hands.

Her voice rises in breathy pitch as his mouth works over her, pushing her back until she’s holding the headboard, and she feels a sheen of heat cover her skin, but not oppressive like the heat from earlier.

“ _Phil_ ,” the word trembles like her legs, and her hand grips the hair on his head, like she’s grounding herself.

He draws back, and slides a finger after, then presses his tongue against her clit, circling it, pushing his finger in, while she comes.

The bed and the room shake around them, even though she doesn’t make a sound.

“Glad we’re not in Malibu,” he pants, resting his head against her thigh, as she lowers her hips back to the mattress.

“They’re used to earthquakes,” she groans and then cranes her neck to give him a smile, stretching her arms above her, letting her hand rest back on his head again to scrape gently across his scalp.

She traces along the edge of his ear as he tenses for moment, then blinks, silently staring up at her.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen,” he says a moment later. 

Her thumb moves down along his cheek, and she thinks about what they were trying to talk about earlier today.

“I still need you, Phil. That hasn’t changed.”

He accepts it, with a contented smile, and his mouth pressed against her hipbone in a brief kiss.

“I didn’t think, like _this_ ,” he mumbles.

“No, I still need you,” she grins, wiggling her hips under him.  “Not joking.”

He sits up, and then stretches his body over hers, holding himself up with his arms, then lowers himself down to kiss her.

She can taste herself on him, and he groans into her mouth, letting her take control, deepening the kiss.  Her hand reaches between their bodies, slips below the band of his briefs and finds him already almost hard again.

His movements are distracted by the long strokes she’s giving him, like he’s suddenly divided, pushing himself into her tight hand with a series of groans.

“Fuck.  _Skye_ …”

He throws his head back, then closes his eyes.

“Some things haven’t changed?”

“Not for a lack of imagining,” he answers, trying to control his breathing, then tilting his head back down to look at her, seeming far too serious. “Trust me.”

“I do.” 

She slides her leg around his, and flips him over onto his back.  His whole body tenses, until she sets her hands against his wrists, moving them off of her, against the mattress near his head.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, pinning his hips against the bed with her weight.

He stares back at her, with wide eyes, and nods.

“Yes,” he finally says, loudly.

 

#

 He’s making pancakes.

Drawn out of the room by the scent, she walks up behind him, quietly, then slips her arms around his waist.

She kisses the side of his neck, as he leans into her, then draws her tongue around the edge of his ear.

He wriggles against her, and she slides her hands up and feels his chest drawing in deep breaths beneath her touch, the scar against her fingers.

“Good morning,” she whispers, and kisses him again.

“Mmm… _Daisy_.”


End file.
